


Staunch as Stone

by Meztli



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Durin Family Feels, Family Bonding, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6252319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meztli/pseuds/Meztli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No mother wants to be the bearer of ill news to her children, but it is a task that Dis must do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staunch as Stone

There is a ringing in her head, like the frequency of a note dying in her eardrums. Her brother's lips are moving, but she can no longer hear his words, does not want to. All the noise that has issued from his mouth since “There was an orc raid,” has been like wasps in her skull. The blood on his tunic was the first indication that something had gone wrong. 

“Dis, please.” The words have fought their way into her mind, and it is then she finally pays attention to her brother.

Motionless, she stares at the deep brown of his eyes, filled with concern for her, and sadness for the one he speaks of. His hands weigh on her shoulders, firm and substantial, as if letting her go would mean she would crumble. She thinks she is weeping. Wetness rolls down her cheeks, catches on her beard, but she does not make a sound.

“You must tell them, you are their mother, and the Lady of the Blue Mountains,” Thorin says.

Dis says nothing. She could stand before a crowd of hundreds as ruler and keep a mask of fortitude even when her heart bleeds. But to see the crestfallen faces of her children as she gives them the news that their father is dead is a feat she does not want to face, even though she knows she must.

“I will be there with you,” says her brother in a reassuring tone. 

“They look up to you,” she finally replies.

“Their strength comes from you, Dis. You are the staunchest dwarrowdam I know, and you cannot let grief consume you when your strength is needed the most by your sons.”

She does not feel strong, not right now, not when the ache is still fresh and she is expected to share that ache with her brood. But her brother is right. It is her burden to do. She must collect herself, and be the leader and mother that she is. Dis wipes her eyes, though by now her tears have dried and tightened her skin, and seeks out her children in their chamber.

 

Kili's smile is missing teeth and there is a stain on the corner of his lip from the last meal he ate as he whirls to his mother. His smile collapses when he sees her expression. He then spots Thorin, and his plump cheeks become rounder again with a smile. “Uncle, you're back!” He bolts over to him, colliding with Thorin's stomach as his uncle catches the little one in his arms. “Where's Khagam? I want to show him the toy me and Fi are crafting.”

Fili, not yet fifteen, is staring at his mother with troubled eyes and says nothing. He looks so much like his father; it is like another barb to her heart. Tempered and with hair like polished gold and eyes like tepid water, he is truly his father's son.

“My sons, come here,” she hears herself say, and they obey, staring up at her with expectant faces. Kili's expression is full of innocent curiosity, unlike Fili, who reads her as if she is an open scroll. 

“He's dead isn't he?” Fili says, his voice sounding oddly mechanical. He is an astute boy, and it is times like this when Dis wishes he wasn’t as sharp as he is for one his age. 

There is a stone in Dis's throat, and she has to force it down to speak. “He is with Aüle, in the Halls reserved for our kin.”

“But… He promised he’d return.” Kili’s brown eyes go round with disbelief. He looks from her, to his uncle, then back to her, expecting them to refute the ill news. 

Thorin is as solemn as the kingly golden carvings in Erebor. “Your mother speaks true.” 

Kili’s little face pinches with hurt, breathing through his button nose in rasps. He looks at Thorin with what might be anger if it wasn’t drowned out by the grief his small frame shakes with. “It is your fault. You took dad with you, and now he's dead.” 

“It is not your uncle's fault, love. There was an unexpected ambush-”

He runs out before her reach can catch him, pushing passed Thorin, who makes no attempt to stop him. Dis is torn between following her youngest or staying with her eldest, who has not yet shed a tear.

“I will stay with the Fili. I do not wish to further agitate Kili,” says Thorin.

With that, Dis leaves to find Kili, having a good idea of where he would go.

 

“Was it an orc?” His sister-son asks. Thorin sees that the boy is fighting back tears, shielding his face with the free strands of his flaxen hair. The braids pleated by Fili’s father are beginning to loosen. Dis will have to take charge of rethreading them, but she must do it in her own fashion. She cannot replicate the braids, because each one means something by the person who plaits them. Perhaps Thorin will add one of his own if the boy allows it. 

Thorin nods, stalking over to sit by him on the smooth stone floor.

“Will you teach me to fight, uncle? I want to avenge Khagam like you avenged great Gamul Khagam.” He means his words to sound brave, but Thorin can hear how frightened and unsure they are. 

“I was already a dwarf fully grown when I saw Thror killed, and a seasoned warrior when I did slay his killer. You are far too young to be thinking of vengeance.” If one day he was to reclaim the throne, Fili would be the second in line, and he would have to face many dangerous situations. But he was still just a boy.

“But when I grow up, will you teach me?”

Thorin pats his nephew on his head, affectionately. The young dwarrow is less reckless than his younger brother, but just as stubborn. “In time, my boy, I will teach you all I know in combat. Right now, you must hone your strength in other ways.”

“What other ways is there to be strong?” Fili asks in earnest. 

“Here,” he points to Fili's temple, and then to the center of his chest. “And here. A good leader must strengthen mind, body, and heart. Without these things, he is unfit to rule.”

“My father... Was he weak because he died?”

The question is alarming, but Thorin gives him a ready answer. 

“No, lad, your father was a stout and honorable man all through his life. You should be proud of having had him as a father. Because of him, Gloin is still alive. He did not die in vain.”

“I like Gloin,” Fili says, his voice cracking. “But I wish my father was still alive.”

Thorin wraps his arms around his nephew as the boy sobs quietly into his tunic, the one he traded for his bloodstained one to spare his nephews the frightful sight. He wishes he had done the same for Dis, but she had met him from his return before he could do so. 

Though he is not responsible for the death of his-brother-in-law, he had been in charge of the scout, and any man who fell while under his orders was a sign of failure in his part. Thorin will make it up to him and his sister and he will be a father figure to them in Vili’s absence. He will not be a replacement, never, but he will strive to be a dwarf they can look up to. 

 

Dis finds her youngest where she knew he’d be, in her husband’s workshop. Kili starts when he hears the hinges creak, and casts his rheumy eyes up to see it is her, before hastily looking back down at the item he holds in his hands. He sniffs, wiping his nose with his sleeve as she takes a seat on the bench. The thing in his hands is a wooden toy carved in the likeness of a mining cart. It is missing the wheels. 

“Is that the toy you and Fi have been working on?”

Kili nods. “We haven’t finished it. We can’t get the wheels right. We wanted dad to help us. He’s never going to now.”

With a surge of a tantrum, Kili flings the toy to sail in the air, and it crashes and skitters across the floor in pieces. 

“Kili-”

“He never should’ve gone with uncle.” A fresh film of tears appears in his eyes, and he wipes them away before they spill. As fast as his temper rose, it melts and shifts into a doleful look. He doesn’t resist when she holds him. He is very small, almost as small as a human child, and he even looks like one. The few children in the realm were born with whiskers, while Kili has yet to show signs of anything more than a few wisps of hair on his cheeks. She knows the other children taunt him for his looks, which has made him all the more reckless and volatile with how he handles problems. Their royal bloodline has not made Kili any less of a target to his peer’s derisions; it only further incites their envy and scorn. 

She smoothens out his unruly mane. He does not brush or adorn his hair, preferring to wear it unfastened like his uncle does, except on Thorin the look is regal and orderly. Kili has always wanted to be more like his uncle than his father, awed by Thorin’s heroic tales and desire to reclaim their kingdom, and her heart twists in thinking that one day her sons may follow their uncle into future battles. “Your father and uncle both went out of concern for our safety. It is nobody’s fault but that of the orcs’.”

Kili looks up at her through his bangs, and she sees that he is grasping her words. He sniffs again, and leans into her more. “I miss him already.”

She kisses the top of his head. “I do too, love. But we still have each other, including your uncle.”

“I’m not mad at uncle anymore,” Kili decides, fickle in emotion as every child is at his age. 

 

She watches them, her brother and her two sons, as they repair the toy that Kili broke in his outburst. One day, her children will be full-grown dwarves, and they will turn from making toys to forging weapons, from playing games to fighting battles. She will have no say in their decision as adults, and will have to let them go if they choose to follow their uncle on his destined quest. The thought pains her, and she pushes it away. For now, she will cherish them as they are, and she will continue to raise them become the dwarves their father would want them to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading


End file.
